Recalibration
by The North Wyn
Summary: Ward realizes the team is his weakness. He goes to Garrett for some recalibration. ((A little AU-ish.))


So, Ward's brain is a bag of cats at the moment, but not without good reason, honestly. Anyway. Rated _M_ for abuse and Ward's screwed up way of thinking/twisted paternal relationship he has with Garrett. Also rated for pain, blood, and violence. This is a disturbing story, folks; fair warning.

* * *

Ward steps into the room and shuts the door.

Garrett looks up at him without saying a word.

So, he's going to make Grant ask, then. So be it. It wouldn't be the first time.

"So..." Ward takes off his jacket and lays it on a chair. "That could have gone better."

Garrett calmly takes a sip of beer. Grant knows this calmness; it's the calm before the code red tsunami.

He waits and the silence makes his skin crawl. Is Garrett waiting for him to say more before he gets this show on the road?

Grant waits until he can't wait any longer. He shrugs. "I—I couldn't pull the trigger."

And there it is—the reason he needs this. The team was his mission and now the mission was over and he was supposed to terminate them. He couldn't.

It is a weakness.

Garrett can fix it.

In a very controlled movement, Garrett sets down his beer. He stands up. He never breaks eye contact.

Ward knows what's coming next. It's why he's here after all.

Garrett comes to stand directly in front of Ward, an arm's length away. He swings his fist back and makes contact with Ward's mouth. There is a rush of pain and then the bitter, metallic taste of blood. Ward swallows. Garrett hits him again. And again.

The blows continue to rain down. Ward forces himself to use the pain to focus himself, sharpen his mission objective. He knows who he is. He knows what he's supposed to do. The team had temporarily made him forget, but Garrett's reminding him.

The pain brings him to the floor eventually, curled up in a submissive posture at Garrett's feet. He doesn't ask him to stop, though. He waits for Garrett to deem it to be enough, to deem _him _enough. Garrett will know. Garrett always knows.

Garrett kneels above him, grabs his hair and pulls his head back. "Who are you loyal to?"

"You."

"Again."

"_You._"

"And what are your orders?"

"To eliminate Coulson's team."

Garrett forcefully releases him, letting his head fall back hard against the floor.

"Don't disappoint me again."

"I won't."

But Garrett gives no sign of hearing as he grabs his beer and leaves, slamming the door behind him.

* * *

Ward pulls himself up into a sitting position and tries to breathe. He suppresses the whimper that threatens to escape with the movement. He's fairly certain Garrett broke another couple ribs. Everything _hurts_ and he curses himself for caring. He finds himself suddenly longing for familiar small, soft, caring hands, tending to his wounds, and he curses himself further. He has become too used to comfort.

He _needed _this, needed this reminder of who he is, of how much he owes Garrett. A reminder of who cares about him. Garrett wouldn't do this if he didn't love him. If he didn't want the best for Ward.

He owes _everything_ to Garrett and he let eight months with the team get in the way of his loyalties.

There's a small voice in his head whispering that love doesn't look like this.

Love looks like an open door and an offered hand in times when he felt overwhelmed with fear and hate and anger and emotions he couldn't put names to.

Love looks like someone who stitched him up over and over and who's only frustration with him seemed to be his tendency for getting hurt.

Love looks like someone saying they won't leave him, even possibly at the cost of his own life, and who hovered at his shoulder, worried sick about him _of all people,_ after the last lesson Ward took from Garrett.

Love looks like someone who took him gently by the arm and led him away, giving him privacy, as he gave Ward the bad news about Garrett's allegiance.

Love looks like _Skye_.

He tries to silence the voice.

The team is a weakness he cannot afford.

Next time, he will be strong enough to pull the trigger.

That same voice whispers _no you won't._

-end-


End file.
